1852. 
THE CULTIVATOR 
IS 9 
Notes of a Tour in France. 
Eds. 'Cultivator —In accordance with your wish for 
some few agricultural notes of my last summer’s tour in 
France, I send you the following desultory “jottings 
down,” from my journal. They will be of interest, per- 
haps, to some of your readers, whose curiosity may have 
been excited regarding the country of the “ French Me¬ 
rino” sheep—a breed that, within a few years, has oc¬ 
cupied the attention of many of our flock-masters, and 
whose steadily increasing popularity, bids fair to give 
them a prominent place in the sheep husbandry of our 
country. My rambles this summer, were almost entirely 
confined to the department of the “ Seine et Oire,” 
(where the finest flocks of this breed are found,) my es¬ 
pecial object in visiting France, being to select and send 
to this country the best sheep of that variety. Of ray 
success, I leave others to judge 9 though without the 
cordial assistance and advice of one of the best breeders 
in France, I should scarcely have succeeded in meeting 
the approval of the critical judge in this country, for 
whom I acted. 
On the — day of last April, I left the Havre and Paris 
railway at Poissy, and bidding good-bye to my traveling 
companions, who marveled much at my stopping when 
within an hour of the gay city of Paris, I entered a Ca¬ 
baret, or small inn, to refresh the inner man before going 
further, and to procure a conveyance to Wideville, my 
destination for the night. Mine host, a round-faced 
portly individual, in white apron and cotton night-cap, 
(for he was cook as well as landlord,) received me as if 
I had been an old customer, and promising me horse, 
dinner, lodging, anything or everything I wanted, bustled 
off to his pots and pans with comic gravity. By the 
time the stout Norman stallion that was to take me on, 
had eaten his feed of oats, the dinner was placed on one 
of the numerous little tables that, covered with a coarse 
but snow-white cloth, always stand ready in the large 
“ Salle a Manger,” or eating-room. With the appetite 
of a man just from ship-board, I did ample justice to my 
stout host’s cookery, and had just finished the bottle of 
light red wine, the invariable accompaniment of a French 
meal, when the cabriolet came to the door. This vehicle 
Is the universal one-horse conveyance in the country, and 
resembles our old fashioned chaise. It is roomy and 
comfortable, holding three persons. The hood or top 
projects very far forward, and a wooden apron shutting 
up the front makes it almost close in bad weather. It 
Is suspended on steel springs and is very heavy, though 
the large wheels diminish the draught- the rough pave¬ 
ments require a strong carriage, but the horses being all 
very powerful, its weight is of little consequence. Still 
our carriage makers would rather laugh at its ponderous 
appearance, and compared with our light wagons it would 
look very like a dray-horse by the side of a thorough¬ 
bred. 
Leaving Poissy, we soon cleared the narrow crooked 
streets of the town, and once in the country, the sturdy 
black, incited by sundry applications of the whip, in¬ 
creased his pace, and striking into a good round ten mile 
an hour trot, kept it without flagging, up hill and down, 
all the way to Wideville about four leagues. These horses, 
though often rather sluggish, possess great wind and bot¬ 
tom. I had frequent occasion to remark this in those 
taken directly from the plow 5 after a hard day’s work 
perhaps, they would gd ten, twenty, or even thirty miles, 
without sign of fatigue. The general character and ap¬ 
pearance of the Norman horse is too well known to need 
any particular description. Strength and endurance are 
their distinguishing features, to which, surprising as it 
may seem, is generally joined docility. My friend’s wife 
Mad. G-, drove either of his two cabriolet horses with 
perfect safety. They often reach a great age, and retain 
all their good qualities to the last. I have seen twenty 
year old horses working as cheerfully as colts. The 
farmers generally use stallions in their teams, the mares 
being chiefly kept by the breeders. There are several 
horse fairs in this part of France; one of the most con¬ 
siderable is at Chartres; it is held once a year, and there 
are sometimes a thousand horses on the ground for sale. 
The most esteemed variety is the “ Percheron,” so named 
from the locality where they are bred. At three or four 
years old they sell for from one to two hundred dollars, 
and even higher, according to size and action, and are 
much sought after by the richer farmers and proprietors 
as cabriolet horses. A young grey of this breed in the 
stable of a friend with whom I stayed-, at St. Escoville, 
struck me as a noble specimen. He stood 16 hands high 
and well spread. His powerful counter, short back, 
strong loin and bony limbs denoted great strength and 
constitution, and his broad forehead and intelligent eye, 
spoke well for his temper and sagacity. Nor was I de¬ 
ceived, when the next morning, being late in starting for 
the rail, he took two of us in the heavy cabriolet over a 
hilly wood to Estampes, a distance of 14 miles, in less 
than an hour, without effort or fatigue, though apparent¬ 
ly his condition was much too high for such a drive. 
They are generally good feeders and easily kept fat. I 
think that a cross of this breed on our common stock, 
might improve the size and substance without injuring 
the activity and spirit that characterises the American 
horse. For our use it would be far more valuable than 
a cross with the English dray horse, whose only recom¬ 
mendation is his prodigious power, his best pace being a 
walk. The Canadian horse still bears a resemblance to 
the parent stock, though with less size and style, as would 
of course follow from crossing with the small Indian race. 
The “ Morgan ” horse has been said to have a strain of 
this French blood, and their appearance and performance 
would certainly warrant the opinion. If such be the 
case, no better argument for the cross could be found. 
Our road now lay through a rolling, cultivated coun¬ 
try, dotted with small hamlets, and patches of wood. 
The forests of St. Germain and Marly bounded the view 
to the east, but westward, the eye ranged far over the 
fertile valley of the Seine. These forests were once much 
more extensive*.and belonged to the Crown, by whom 
they were carefully preserved for the purposes of the 
chase. But during the various revolutions that have sha¬ 
ken France, they have been on various pretexts reduced 
in size and number. The land has been cleared, and let 
or sold. The high walls that enclosed them have been 
suffered to fall into decay, and sheep and cattle quietly 
graze, where once the stag and the wild boar were the 
